


Don't Touch The Silence

by Rainy182



Series: This Is Your Brain On Writer's Block [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Talia Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Alternate Universe- 1600, BAMF Kira Yukimura, Characters are in order in which they appear, Crazy Kate, Dead Allison Argent, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, John Stilinski's A+ Parenting, Kitsune Kira Yukimura, M/M, Magical Claudia Stilinski, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mute Stiles Stilinski, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Peter Hale, Pre-Relationship, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Slight unreliable narration, Stiles thinks he's a mage/witch, Tags May Change, Witch Curses, Young Peter Hale, Young Stiles Stilinski, beacon hills knows, by choice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2019-08-19 21:15:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16542380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainy182/pseuds/Rainy182
Summary: Secrets built Beacon Hill's from the ground up.Not those fun secrets like how he Millers hate the Docks for stealing their horse's fourty years ago, but nobody talks about it. Amy Kelt slept with Chelsea's husband Roger on their wedding night, and the town has been destitute since 1598.No, Beacon Hill's was born of witches blood and werewolf pride. Was protected and cursed by the fae. Dragons used to lurk in the caves nearby, and banshees guided those to the afterlife.But then the witch trials happened, hunters moved in, and the magic that built Beacon Hill's was casted out. But the people don't talk about that, they remain silent. Quiet.Well they did until Peter, casted out of his pack, walks into town. And Stiles, the outcast, follows after.





	1. Peter

**Author's Note:**

> The popped up in my head! I'll probably add more to it when the mood strikes, because I have some ideas, but I just wanted to stop looking at it in my google docs for a while. Hope you like it!!

Betrayal is defined as, _the action of betraying one's country, a group, or a person; treachery_. Understanding such words was an important part of being the Left Hand, to become a good and fair executioner you have to know _why_ the threat needs to be eliminated. Or at least that’s how Peter felt. He was always different in a peculiar way. Too cruel for the villagers, but too kind for his pack’s taste. No, not his pack. 

 

His sister, his Alpha, Talia. 

 

For all his understanding and love for words, Peter can’t help but not understand the feeling that overcame him, as he stands on the outskirts of the Hale land alone. Betrayal is no longer a word applied to a dangerous threat to his family- _ his home _ . It’s now a feeling curling around his heart as his sister- no the Alpha- renounces his place in the pack. 

 

Betrayal is a numb feeling he finds. Not as sharp as traitor or as cruel as treason. But numbing as his entire belief is ripped away like a limb in war. Peter feels as the warm pack bonds in his mind slowly fade into a cold ember. His wolf howls in anguish when the last pack bond fades. 

 

Cora’s.

 

After that all Peter can hear is silence- somehow becoming a physical representation of his numbness. He can’t tell how long he lets himself stand just on the other side of the Hale territory. How long he considered pushing himself forward, breaking the barrier and fighting his sister- no the Hale Alpha - on keeping his place within the pack. 

 

But he doesn’t. He sways in shock, cries silently, and loses time. But he never crosses the invisible line. 

 

That’s where the boy finds him, covered in grief and pain, just like the man before him. They both look at each other silently, both waiting for the other to speak up first, as if the silence was a thick barrier that only the most important words can crumble. Peter opens his mouth, but the boy turns away- his sent spiking with the sour taste of worry- and runs off towards the small village of Beacon Hills. His scent of  _ grief, pain, and worry _ , all wrapped in honey leaving a trail behind him. 

 

Peter lets his mouth fall back shut again. The silence that for a brief moment was shared between the two now pressing heavily against his chest. He can't help but wonder if he should follow the trail the boy left behind. If he should go towards the village that always thought him too cruel, and try to rebuild. Rebuild in a place that's familiar but far enough away from those who had hurt him. 

 

The silence doesn’t answer his question- it never will- but as he looks back towards the Hale territory and then towards the path the boy had let down he find one leaves him feeling  _ less _ and the other feeling _ more _ . 

Of what? Peter doesn't know. 


	2. Stiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is what the villagers consider a miracle child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm adding to this!

_Then..._

Stiles is what the villagers consider a miracle child. Having been born from a woman cursed with infertility, it was a shock to everyone. And a happy one at that. It was a moment of which people swore the Gods were finally smiling down on them, and that the small village of Beacon Hills would finally prosper. 

 

The town had a drought one moon cycle later. And the Stilinski’s were caste to the edge of the village the dark of the night. Banished to silence from the village, and only interacted with as a last resort. But the family still remained happy. The former sheriff, his wife, and their miracle baby. 

 

They learned to farm- so they only had to enter the village when needed, and with Claudia’s special affinity for nature they flourished.  The former sheriff- John- never asked how his wife got the food to grow, he was just happy that he could still feed his family and use it to make a living. 

 

However as time passed, and Stiles grew older, the small happy bubble that surrounded the Stilinski family got thinner and thinner. Until one day the bubble popped. 

 

You see Claudia was cursed, a curse that has been passed down from Mother to child for the passed two hundred generations. She was only allowed to live until her child’s tenth birthday. It’s how the Gajos’s family line has always been. The mother gives birth and ten years later she dies a painful death- whatever will cause the most pain towards the mother's family. It was a curse placed by another witch centuries ago, in a fit of jealous rage. 

 

But John and Stiles didn’t know all that. They just know that the person they love is starting to get forgetful. The plants are starting to wilt. 

 

They still think Stiles is a miracle child.  When instead Stiles is what most would consider a death sentence.

 

_ Now... _

 

Stiles spent time in the woods when he could no longer stand the smell of liquor in his house, on his father, and the barren farmland that surrounds them. He’d rather spend his time listening to nature and practicing the small amount of magic he knows in the clearing near the crooked line of Organ Ash trees. 

So he was surprised to find himself not alone when he arrived. Instead he was accompanied by a man not much older than him who seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. And from the smell of it experiencing fresh grief and distress. Stiles lets his foot step on a branch to alert the man of his presence. 

Stiles can’t help but stare when he sees blue eyes staring back at him. The eyes flickering from electric blue to steel at a hummingbird pace.  _ Werewolf _ a soft voice whispers to Stiles through the breeze that picks up momentarily. Stiles can’t help but immediately be amazed about seeing a werewolf- a species famous for staying deeper in the forest than even Stiles would venture. But as he keeps looking at the man in front of him he starts to notice the tremor in his hands. How his eyes are filled with tears and his cheeks covered in the trails of old ones. That his stance instead of tall and proud- like most were’s stand- is closed off and meek. 

Stiles wishes he could offer comforting words, but his mouth stays closed and his hands at his side. 

  
The wind picks up again,  _ John’s awake _ , it whispers,  _ angry _ , and clams back down. Stiles turns away from the man quickly, as he realizes he has been hiding in the woods far longer than he planned. He runs back the way he came, the tree’s stay parted instead of filling the space like normal, however Stiles pushes the thought away. His father now on his mind and a renewed worry about what awaits him at home.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking alternating between the two characters is going to work better with this story than sticking with just Peter's POV. And you'll see why in like two chapters! Until then, let me know what you think! I won't lie, comments and kudos keep me going.


	3. Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He could head east. Trade the warm weather of the west for the bitter cold of the rumored New England. He’s heard tales of millions of colonies all littering along the east coast. The stories of how they brought new food and customs had even reached the ears of his secluded pack. 
> 
> Former pack he corrects himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Fanfic WIP > Writing that one fic everyone wants you to actually update > writing the original story you've been working on for a year now
> 
> haha kidding, kinda! Here's the new chapter, I hope you like it!

The village was smaller than Peter remembered, from what he can see. It was also no longer filled with laughter and joyous music as it once was. As if all the life had been sucked away during his time away, _hiding_ his mind helps supply. And how long had it been? Five, ten, twenty years since his last visit? Either of those time frames are long enough for change to happen, but so drastic?

He can’t help but hope peoples memory of him has fade just as swiftly has the towns change happened.

Old fears keep Peter stuck on the outer side of the village territory line however. Another line to cross, another barrier for him to break through. He can’t help but hope his wolf would give a sign of how he should proceed- if he should even proceed at all. But he was alone in his head, just has he had been for the past three days. Nothing but a muffling numbness and his inner thoughts to keep him company in his mind

Intellectually Peter knows he can’t go back, and that even if he could, it will never be the same. Intellectually Peter knows his best chance at survival as a lone wolf is to find the nearest community and integrate as quickly as possible. Intellectually Peter knows that the best thing to do is to cross the line, enter town, and find his new place.

He thinks back to the boy that came across him in the woods. He wonders where he went, because Peter spent a full day following the boys trail before it went cold. Having left Peter finding himself only going in circles for all the time, and three days away from Beacon Hills. He might find him here, but he also shouldn’t build his entire change on five minutes of silence with a stranger.

He could head east. Trade the warm weather of the west for the bitter cold of the rumored New England. He’s heard tales of millions of colonies all littering along the east coast. The stories of how they brought new food and customs had even reached the ears of his secluded pack.  

 _Former pack_ he corrects himself.

A cry pulls Peter from his thoughts. It’s far too quiet for human ears to hear, but his pick it up as if the person was only a mere five feet away. He makes his way towards the sound quickly- the distress clear in its pitch- his feet carrying him over the invisible line. As he makes his way towards the sound, the cry focuses into a more childlike sound and becomes more recognizable as feminine.

The child- when Peter finds her- is holding her ankle and has tear streaks lining her face. He can’t help but notice how her ankle is twisted in an odd angle.

“Hello Little One,” Peter calls out clearly a few feet away from her, hoping to give her a warning in a way to prevent being startled.

She looks up at him quickly in fear. Her sent going from _pain and worry_ to _pain and frightened_. Peter watches as she tries to scoot further into the tree that she has been leaning against. One hand subtly going for the small tree branch next to her.

Peter takes a small step back and opens is hands, palms upwards, “I am not going to hurt you. Where are you parents? Are they far? I can get them for you.”

The girl watches him in silence, her sent still holding a small amount of fear, and her hand still holding the tree branch tightly.

Peter tries to listen to his surroundings closely in hopes to hear any adults who might be looking for this girl. Maybe if he can find them, then he can lead them to her. But all he is met with is the noises of the forest around them. He gives a quick scan to the area around him looking for immediate danger before sitting down on the ground and facing the child in front of him again.

“I’m called Peter,” the girl remains silent, “I know you don’t trust me- smart girl- but I can help take your pain. At least long enough were we can get you back to the village.”

Silence is the only reply he receives again and frustration starts to tickle the back of his mind as he tries to think of how to get the girl in front of him to temporarily trust him. He doesn’t even know why it’s so important. But an itch to _protect_ and a need to gain trust keeps circling his mind.  Maybe it’s his wolf finally speaking up, just in a different way or maybe it’s just his way of trying to prove something. Peter doesn’t know to who.

“Annabeth,” a soft voice speaks out, “They call me Annabeth.”  

Peter stays silent a little longer before opening his mouth to speak, “Anna-”

“You are not from Beacon Hills,” Annabeth cuts him off before he can finish his sentence.

“You don’t look starving and frail,” as Annabeth speaks Peter is starting to get the feeling that he’s not listening to a child speak.

Peter looks at the girl in front of him more closely. How she looks childlike in an innocent way, but her mouth holds small frown lines and crows feet line her eyes. Listening more closely to the forest around him he can hear a bird chirp three times, a branch crackle for, an eagle move in its nest then it all repeats. Like a loop played out for an audience.

The girl slowly stands up, her ankle falling back into place like a puzzle piece, and her mouth pulls into a smile showcasing slightly too sharp teeth. And if Peter looks closely he can see the blue tint that undercoats her skin.  

“You are not human.” It is said, not asked.

Peter now realizes he was not lead to an injured village girl in need of help, but rather lured to a fae looking to trick a poor soul. Which now that Peter thinks about it, makes sense as to why she couldn’t speak. For she had no truths she could tell, only lies she couldn’t speak.

“No I am not,” Peter agrees, slowly rising to a stand as well while moving a fraction further away.

“Why are you here wolf? This land has no value, cursed by those from it,” Annabeth informs, her voice still as soft as before, but somehow having more strength in it.

“Why does anyone trade out one life for another?”

Peter hopes he can keep his lack of pack a closely held secret until he finds a new pack to join or build. And the last group of people he needs finding out about his omega status is the fae. As they are known to steal away “lost things” to the fae world and keep them as toys until they are bored. Nobody knows what happens afterwards to them.

“Love or fear. But wolf of the Hales, what could you _possibly_ be running from?”

Peter smiles a slow smile, not answering out loud one way or the other. The silence stretched on before Annabeth finally steps back, her body slowly disappearing as it steps into the fae’s parallel world. Peter stays still after she is fully gone, counting to ten three times before finally moving towards the village again. The east coast now far from his mind as he continues forward. As he gets closer and closer to the forest line, the proper part of town comes to his unblocked view.  

He doesn’t think about his pack when he steps out of the tree’s and onto the abandoned street. He doesn’t think of the broken bonds when he steps towards the town hall. He doesn’t think about the boy and how he smelt of magic and honey, as he knocked on the larger wooden door. He doesn’t think of the fae when the village leader opens the door and stares down at him with dark brown-black eyes.

“I am called Peter,” His voice holding the faint accent of someone from Jamestown, “May I take resident in your village?”

After all, what could he _possibly_ be running from?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who do you think the village leader is?


	4. Stiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nature's magic, Stiles finds, always stays in the forest. It never follows him to his house, choosing instead to wait until he is back among the trees to speak to him and guide him. He hasn't learned why, and once he's back among the trees the question seems more and more insignificant, until it disappears altogether. The boy doesn't mind though usually, he finds its nice to have things that are just for him, something his father can't scream about or become sad about.
> 
>  
> 
> Something his father can't drink about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a side fic and instead my muse has made it my main focus. Oh well, y'll don't mind do ya?

The farm house is still quiet when he arrives. The lights still off and his bedroom window still left open a crack so he can re-enter the house silently.  However years of experience has taught Stiles to still be wary of things that look too peaceful. So Stiles slowly approaches the house, the only noise coming from the wind blowing gently on the hanging chimes by the front door. 

 

Nature's magic, Stiles finds, always stays in the forest. It never follows him to his house, choosing instead to wait until he is back among the trees to speak to him and guide him. He hasn't learned why, and once he's back among the trees the question seems more and more insignificant, until it disappears altogether. The boy doesn't mind though usually, he finds its nice to have things that are just for him, something his father can't scream about or become sad about. 

 

Something his father can't drink about.

 

The boy knows his father is sick and that the life he currently lives isn't normal by any means. But he also remembers promising his mother on her last normal day before her mind completely deteriorated to take care of him while she was gone- until her mind can come back. She's dead now, but her request and his promise lives on. 

 

Stiles slips into his room and silently closes the window behind him. And although he hasn't turned to face his room yet, he knows he's not alone. The scent of alcohol filling the his room that normally is the one spot in the house that doesn't contain the stale smell. When he finally turns around he is faced with his father sitting on the edge of Stile's desk. 

 

Years ago John was a beautiful man. His hair dark raven, now graying and frail. He stood tall and fit from farm labor, now his stomach protrudes from beer and whiskey, and he sits slouched. Even his skin, something at his age should be covered with laugh lines, is ashen grey and weathered. 

 

“I thought I told you not to leave the farm after dark?” John quietly asked, his eyes still somewhat glassy. 

 

Stiles wonders if its from tears of worry or from the latest glass his father picked up at the bar in town. Wondered if it was after the third or eighth drink when John remembered he was needed home. He wonders and wonders, but his mouth stays closed and he doesn't answer the question or ask any of his own. 

 

“I asked you a question Stiles,” John's voice rising slightly as he begins to stand, “Did I or did I not tell you to stay inside after dark?” 

 

Stiles fingers twitch, his eyes looking for the pen and pad he usually keeps on him at all times. For moments like this, when he is demanded to answer questions and speak. When he is finally asked for more than he can give.  But his hands are empty, his pockets too, because the forest doesn't need words. 

 

Just beautiful silence. 

 

However Stiles is now back in his house, his reality, where silence isn't beautiful. Silence is defiance, silence is abnormal, silence is shamed. And to some of the people in Stiles life- himself included- silence can be dangerous. 

 

John is now standing- swaying- just a few steps in front of Stiles. The smell of liquor stronger now to the boys nose, causing him to briefly wonder if it will stick to the rooms walls as quickly as it has to his father's breath.

 

“Answer me!” 

 

Stiles ducks as a fist strikes out and slams into the wall behind him. The chalk from the wall bursting outward as John's fist breaks in. The silence tense between the two Stilinski men as one pants in anger and exhaustion, and the other watches silently as he moves farther and farther away. 

 

“Fine,” John's voice weirdly steady as he looks at nothing, “Don't speak. But you won't leave this house until you do.” 

 

John moves away from the wall. As he removes his hand from the wall, more of its foundation crumbles and falls out, the broken pieces laying shattered at his feet. Breathing in he takes a shaking break and walks to the door only pausing to look at Stiles once more. 

 

“She'd be disappointed ya know…” 

 

Stiles doesn't look at his father as he leaves, the only reason he knows he's gone is by the sound of the door closing. Instead Stiles looks at the broken pieces of wall that lays out in his floor. He counts the millions of pieces all jagged and frail and then he grabs a broom and sweeps. 

The next morning the windows are nailed shut. But the birds sing outside as the sun shines down on the Stilinski's home, not a shadow insight, and Stiles sits by his window and watches. 


	5. Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the Argents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: I almost only posted half of this chapter. But then I did a quick read through (dare I say _proof read?_ ) and noticed it was cut off. So saved myself that lovely embarrassment!

Gerard Argent sits across the table in front of Peter, his skin paper pale and hair gradually turning grey. They both sit in silence as they wait for Abigail, Gerard's second wife, to return from the village market. They both have tea placed between them, the steam floating out of the cup and into the air, and Peter's noise twitches at the smell of wolfsbane.

 

The grandfather clock looms over them from the corner of the room, and the sound of high noon grates on Peter's ears. But Gerard continues reading the book in his hand- about the Enlightenment- and Peter keeps his hands in lap and eyes ahead. And he wonders- not for the first time- if he's making the right decision or not. Wonders if a tree that fell alone in the woods, really fell if no one heard it.

 

When Abigail Argent walks in both Gerard and Peter rise. The village leaders exchange pleasantries only those who are married to each other are allowed, and Peter simply nods his head in greeting. When they sit down both the Argents occupy separate chairs, each with their own styles. Abigail's built with gold and black, and the arms of the chair decorated with jaguars. While Gerard were red and green, the legs of his throne like seat carved to shape flames.

 

Peter wondered where simple village leaders of a dying village could afford such blatant luxury, but kept his thoughts to himself. Instead he sits straight and waits patiently for one of the two, to finally address the topic at hand. Him moving into Beacon Hills.

 “Why here?,” Abigail's voice soft spoken as she looks him in the eye.

 

“Honestly, it was the first village I stumbled upon,” Peter replies smoothly, his voice still carrying an English tilt.

 

He watches as Abigail looks back towards Gerard, her face carefully blank and his set in a grim stone, neither of them outwardly saying anything. And for a moment Peter becomes painfully aware of the fact that the door is at the farthest point from him, and that the window to the outside sits exactly two floors above the ground. The subtle wolfsbane smell in the air, that had been bearable before seemed to grow in strength as Peter watched and waited for the Argents to come to a decision.

 

Gerard finally looks towards Peter, he smiles but its too tight, as if he was putting on a wool sweater that's too small and too stiff from one too many times drying in the sun. But the wolf, hopes the unpracticed emotion was a sign on his stay, and also a release of his captivity in the village leader's home.

 

“You are from east,” Gerard starts, his voice taking on a fascinated tone that grants suspicion, “so you must be...worldly?”

 

“Aye,” Peter agrees slowly, wondering where this could possibly lead.

 

“Then you've probably been to fancy schools and such, yes?” Abigail continues, her voice just as soft as before.

However unlike before, it's a voice that's leading him to a trap. Of what? Peter doesn't know, but he can't escape. He's already painted a picture of a false life for them to view and admire. For them to hang above the possible grave they've made for him.

 

“I have,” he wonders when he- the wolf- became the sheep in the wolf's den.

 

“What they're trying to say,” a new voice calls from the now open doorway, “is will you be my new tutor?”

 

A young lady leans in the doorway, her hair covered tossed in a bun but filled with twigs, and her arms covered in gold looking liquid. She grins when Peter looks towards her, her eyes as dark as her father's, and she take a small mocking bow.

 

“My apologies how could forget my manners,” the lady steps inside the room and moves to sit in the chair next to Peters, a chair that unlike the others is completely black and smooth of all design, “ My name's Kate. Nice to meet you.”

 

This close to Kate, Peter is able to smell the gold liquid on her arms, how it smells like iron and burnt sugar. Looking closely he can even make notice how the liquid flecks where it dries, and sticks in clumps where it remains wet. Almost like paint, almost like blood.

Peter wonders when the fae realized their young were in danger. He wonders how a human teenager no older than sixteen could be so callous and cold. He wonders how long until the smell of burnt sugar won't make him feel ill. 

 

Logically Peter knows the answers to all of these questions. They didn't, nurture vs nature, and never. But the emotional knee-jerk reaction desperately grasps for any explanation that doesn't lead to him sitting in the home of a murder. 

 

Home of  _ murders _ . 

 

Instinctively Peter reached inside himself for his wolves guidance and comfort. But a cold ember still is the only thing that greets him. A hollow shell filled with the broken strings of former pack bonds. And for a moment he feels a hot flash of anger before it clams back down into a lukewarm numb. 

 

Peter finally looks away from the gold blood covered arms and smiles towards Kate. His teeth blunt and though still grinding against each other somewhat. 

 

“No need for apologizes Ms. Argent,” turning back towards Gerard and Abigail, Peter switches to a more serious face, “As for tutoring your daughter- if that's what you want- it'll be a pleasure. As I said upon my arrival, I want to earn my stay here in the village.” 

 

Gerard stands suddenly, his mask like smile back on his face and shakes the Hale's hand, “Well in that case, welcome to the village of Beacon Hills!” 

 

Abigail softly touches Peters hand and gives a tiny nod, “We do hope it becomes a second home for you.” 

 

Kate doesn't attempt to speak again, nor does she reach out to touch Peter in some welcoming way. He's eternally grateful for that however, as he would have hurled the moment the Fae's blood touched his skin. 

 

When he was left alone to his new room in the second floor of the Argent home he hurled anyways. 

 

The room was painted gold and silver, and smelt of burnt sugar. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, I know its basically a filler chapter (and a bit of a struggle to write), but I'll try to make up for it in the next chapter!


	6. Stiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks had passed since his Father has forbid him from leaving the farm. Each day had become a numbing routine of the two of them having a silent battle of wills. Will Stiles speak? Will John relent? Will Stiles disobey? Will John forget? So far, for two weeks the answer had been no.
> 
>  
> 
> But today’s the first Tuesday of the year. The one day a year that Stiles is allowed back in the village to help partake in the Moon Festival. And also the only day that he could visit his childhood friend Scott McCall. The son of the only village doctor and also the only good thing that had come from Stiles’ Father’s drinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the chapter where the **Fic's Warnings Have Changed**. Triggers for this chapter are: Alcoholism, Neglect, and implied sexual assault and implied rape; the last two are only in the flashback scenes. But I will be putting a spoiler chapter summary in the notes at the end if you just want to skip over this chapter instead! **New Tags Have Been Added**.

_ Seven Years Ago... _

 

_ It was a Tuesday and exactly a year after Claudia’s death, when Stiles was brought to the village for the first time in over six years. His father had  muttered something about the village granting Stiles  _ _ one _ _ day of mercy from their isolation and how it was only because the village wishes to appease the Gods. But Stiles didn’t care, he didn’t care for much these days, he was just happy to leave the farm that only served to remind him of his death mother and drunk absent father.  _

 

_ That’s probably why he couldn’t help but fill with disappointment when they arrived at a tavern. The loud music and laughter from inside drowned out his sigh of sad-tinted resentment, but the orange-yellow light did nothing to hide the befallen look on his face. Nevertheless, John pulled his son behind him and Stiles kept his eyes towards as he was being half dragged and half lead inside.  _

 

_ “Now when we get inside I need you to be quiet okay,” the at the time farmer rushed to say, “I mean it Stiles. These folks are my friends- I don’t have many- and maybe even get me connections.”  _

 

_ When Stiles didn’t reply John stopped the both of them before either could reach the entryway and turned around to look at his son.  _

 

_ “Do you understand?”  _

 

_ Stiles opens his mouth, a “yes sir” at the tip of his tongue before he decides against it and instead nods his head.  _

 

_ “Good.” _

 

Now...

 

Two weeks had passed since his Father has forbid him from leaving the farm. Each day had become a numbing routine of the two of them having a silent battle of wills. Will Stiles speak? Will John relent? Will Stiles disobey? Will John forget? So far, for two weeks the answer had been no. 

 

But today’s the first Tuesday of the year. The one day a year that Stiles is allowed back in the village to help partake in the Moon Festival. And also the only day that he could visit his childhood friend Scott McCall. The son of the only village doctor and also the only good thing that had come from Stiles’ Father’s drinking. 

 

In the beginning years after Claudia's death John had been a regular in the  _ Twisty Tavern _ , a tavern just past the village lines famous for housing the desperate, dying, and drunks. The tavern also had no cares for who was banished and who was not, and because of that John was a frequent visitor in the years before his readmission into Beacon Hills. So in becoming a regular John had also made friends, one named Rafael McCall who just so happened to own  _ Twisty Tavern. _

 

They were fast friends and both happened to have boys the same age, so they decided to set up meet between the two boys, a  _ playdate _ Rafael called it. At the time John didn't know how, the man had lifted the ban on Stiles for one day a year, and it wasn't until later he found out about the older McCall's ties to the village leaders.

 

But at the time he didn't care, he just wanted to impress the business owner he had just befriended. So at seven Stiles was brought to the tavern, and he met a name Rafael and a boy named Scott. 

 

Stiles remembers how proud his father was, and he remembers how polite Scott was to him at first before they warmed up to each other, and Stiles remembers how he had to scream to be heard over the loud music and laughter of Twisty Tavern. 

 

John doesn't remember a thing about the first Tuesday of the year seven years ago. He was blackout drunk before the sun had gone down, but Stiles now had a friend because of it. So in the end, that's  _ one  _ good thing that came out of it. 

 

“Stiles!”

 

Stiles looks up from the empty plate that sits in front of him, his brain trying to catch up to when he had come down to the kitchen and when did he eat. Turning his head towards his father who from the sound of it, called his name multiple times, he gives a small nod in acknowledgement.

 

“Get dressed, we're going into town.” 

 

Running up the stairs to his room, Stiles’ can't help but have a small smile on his face. Despite all of his past experiences with the villagers-  _ hate _ ,  _ disgust _ ,  _ ignorance _ \- the young boy still looked forward to spending time with his best friend.  

 

Stiles settled on a simple black shirt and grey pants. Looking towards the mirror he makes an attempt to flatten his hair, but with a sigh gives up in the next minute. Scott being the only one he'll see, he finds he doesn't care  _ that _ much. And when he's back downstairs, his father says nothing against it, just makes his way towards the front door. 

 

* * *

 

The village looks different from what Stiles remembered, but it's like that every year, they look more and more ill. When he was younger he asked his father why that was, but because of the stony glare he received in response he never asked again. Now he just guesses every time, until a guess sticks. 

 

Plague? No, no one is coughing blood. 

 

Flu? No, no one is throwing up.

 

Pox? No, not a single red dot in sight. 

 

He could probably ask Melissa, Scott's mother and the village doctor, but he finds he likes the guessing game he plays yearly.  _ What a cruel thought _ , he can't help but think.

 

The sheriff stops the both of them once they reach the front door of the McCall home, knocking on the door to inform the family that they had arrived. While they wait John turns back to Stiles. 

 

“You know the drill, stay here for the day and I'll pick you up at nightfall.” 

 

They've done this every year for four years. Stiles in escorted to the McCall home, his father reminds him of the rules, and then he leaves him on the doorstep to head off to the biggest tavern he can find. It's no different this time- even if it's not Scott opening the door- by the time Melissa opens the door John is long gone. 

 

Stiles ignores the small frown on her face. 

 

“Hello Stiles, Scott is upstairs if you want to head on up.” 

 

Stiles gives a small nod, he moves around Melissa to get towards the stairs, but falters when she makes and aborted movement to step away. As if she was trying to avoid his touch only to realize he wasn't moving towards her at all. 

 

_ Oh  _ he can't help but think,  _ I still bother her.  _

 

They both pause, staring at each other silently until the older doctor clears her throat. 

 

“I'll be in my room.”  _ The farthest room in the house.  _

 

Stiles simply just turns and walks away. 

 

_ Five years ago... _

 

_ Scott and Stiles were sitting on the bed when it happened. Shoulders touching and hands bound They both shared bruises, Scott's faded with time and Stiles’ dark to make up for the lack of it. They were both struggling to stay conscious when tavern basement door opened with a bang. Melissa rushed in, worry and fear on her face as blatant as the sun, and unlocked both her Scott and Stiles. Her hands shaking and her voice washing over them with rushed words of “Don't worry, it's over” and “This will never happen again”.  _

 

_ After the check up the took them home, let them stay in Scott's room together. But Stiles knew it was different now, knew that everything had changed. Because Melissia now paused when she left the room, turned to look at him with a frozen weary smile.  _

 

_ “Stiles,” no more “sweetie” or “hun”, “why don't you sleep on the floor, more space yes? Scott can have the bed to himself.”  _

 

_ He stared at her silently in reply, before slowly lowering himself to the floor and pillow and blanket in hand. And at that Melissia gave a small nod and left the doorway to head towards her room.  _

 

_ Scott's door stayed open for the first time in two years.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seven years ago Stiles was allowed back into Beacon Hills for only one day, and rule that is still carried on into present day events. However is first experience in Beacon Hills was in a tavern and unpleasant, and John was blackout drunk at the time and unable to protect him (or Scott). In present day time, Stiles in back in Beacon Hills again and is being dropped off directly at the McCall home. This is where we meet Melissa and discover that she partly blames Stiles for what had happened to Scott and other events that will be discussed in later chapters.  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> SO how did you like the chapter? I know it's not super long, but I rushed it just a touch so I can focus on a fic exchange. Which also means I have exactly two updates coming out sometime later this week- one for I'll Brave Christmas and the other so I'm Nobodys Son- then I'll be MIA until February. Well MIA on here, I'll still be lurking on Tumblr  and Dreamwidth !


	7. Peter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it's shorter than the other chapters, but I've been really busy with school and work lately. Anyways, hope you enjoy the chapter!

The sunrise that filtered through the open window of Peter's room caused the walls to flare into a bright orange. The wolf watched as the cotton drapes danced in the gentle breeze and he listened to the chatter of the early risers that wandered in the village streets. Tonight would be the first full moon of the year-- the moon festival. 

 

Peter has lived through thirty-six moon festivals, but somehow this one felt different. Maybe it was the silence of his wolf or the fact that it will be his first full moon without a pack. But still, he feels as if lead has made a home in his veins and his bones have taken on an aged pain. He feels dread and he feels regret. 

 

Nevertheless, he leaves his bed, sidestepping the metal tin that sits on the floor. Looking over the clothes that had been provided by Abigail he is quickly reminded of the predicament he's placed himself in. 

 

Working for a family of hunters. Teaching a huntress. 

 

He wonders if this counts as betrayal as well. What would happen if a former pack member saw him now, in this moment. Would he be given the benefit of the doubt, or would he be taken out just for the  _ potential _ of being a treat. Peter knows exactly what choice he'd make. 

 

He makes sure the windows are covered and closed before he continues getting ready. And he tries to ignore the faint burnt sugar smell that refused to be blown away by the wind during the night. His movements stay short and swift. But when his eyes catch the small cracked window that hangs on his bedroom wall he pauses. 

 

What stands out are all sharp edges. His cheekbones strong but protruded as his cheeks are sunken in. His normal deep blue eyes carrying an unearthly light to them. But only as a result of the sharp contrast to the darkening bags underneath them. Peter lets a hand gently comb though his hair, the rough stringy texture causing him to sigh. He turns away without giving another look.

 

He skips a morning shower as he took one already the previous night. The memory of scrubbing his skin pink over and over again only for it to fade back to its natural tanned ivory still fresh in his memory. Instead he chooses to dress quickly and make his way to the kitchen for hopefully an uneventful breakfast. 

 

He runs right into Kate upon stepping out the bedroom door. He bites his tongue to keep from hissing in pain when his hand brushes across the wolfsbane twine bracelet that sits idly on her wrist. 

“My apologies Ms. Argent,” He says quickly as he takes two steps back into his room to create space between them. He watches as she steadies her stance while her eyes flash with anger, but before he could try to smooth things over again, a clam smile takes over her face. 

 

“The fault is mine Mr-,” she pauses for information Peter elects not to fill, “I should pay more attention to those around me. I’ll see you at breakfast.” 

 

Her eyes flick to the space just above his shoulder before giving another smile, continuing her way towards the kitchen. Peter turns to look over his shoulder and the silver rustic bucket glares back. Rolling his shoulders, he lets out a heavy breath before finally stepping out of his room again. This time closing and locking the door behind him. 

 

When Peter enters the kitchen he notices how Gerard sits at the head of the table, his wife to his left, and Kate to his right. The three of them stop their low whispers when they notice his approaching, Gerard’s face breaking into a smile as he gestures to one of the two empty seats. 

 

“Sit! Enjoy some breakfast, it’s a busy day for the entire village, so you’ll need it!,” Abigail nods in agreement to Gerard's words while Kate simply rolls her eyes. Giving a tight smile Peter looks over to the empty chair in question. 

 

“Are we not missing someone?” 

 

Silence filled the room, a silence that was thick and heavy, a silence that amplified as Abigail's smile went stiff. Gerard's grip on his cup tightening, and even Kate- as aloof as she’d been- straightens in her seat. 

 

Abigail clears her throat for a moment before rising from the table, placing a new smile on her face, “No, we are not.”  

 

When she turns to walk towards the back of the house, away from prying eyes and ears, Gerard follows. However he can already hear her sobs and smell the scent of salty tears, and the wolf wonders what exactly did he unearth. 

 

“So,” Kate starts with a slow drawl, “Do you want to meet the lost prodigal son?” 

 

Peter turns back to look at the youngest Argent, whose eyes are shining with the same calculating gaze as before. Who Peter can swear still has the remnants of gold flecks decorating her skin, who Peter knows is probably setting a trap for him to fall into. But is it a trap for Peter the New English man? Or Peter Hale the banished omega wolf? But before he can even decide, Kate starts to smile and reaches for her bag. 

 

“His name is Christopher Argent,” bag in hand she starts to make her way towards the front door, “He lives near Twisty Tavern now.” 


	8. Stiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles see's Peter again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knowwww it's short, but I'll try to (actually) make up for it next chapter!

Scott apparently forgot that today was the one day a year where Stiles comes to visit. He had made plans to attend to Moon Festival with Kira, his new girlfriend, and was in the process of getting ready when Stiles entered his room. The spark tried not to feel sudden disappointment at the realization. After all it’s not Scott’s fault that his world is not revolving around one day. So Stiles smiles in greeting and goes for an one-arm hug as if he’s obvious to what’s happening right in front of him.

 

Being forgotten...Again. 

 

However one good thing did come out of this. Stiles is going into the village- the actual village- for the first time in over a decade. Yes, it’s mostly because Scott would feel bad about leaving him here, but honestly Stiles is fine with him wallowing in some guilt. Even if it’s just until he sees Kira. 

 

“Man, Stiles, you’re going to love Kira!” Scott gushed before hastily tacking on, “The village too, you know what I mean!” 

 

Stiles nodded his head in understanding before signing to Scott in a quick reply,  _ U-N-D-E-R-S-T-A-N-D!  _  His friend flashed him a smile before urging him out of the room it feels like he barely spent any time in. 

 

“Come on,” Scott whispered now, not to wake Melissa, “Kira told me her family likes to leave these things early so we need to hurry.” Stiles tries not to trip from the part dragging and part shoving from Scott and he manages it all the way through the house and out the door. When they step outside Stiles turns around to face Scott and waves his hand in the teens face to get his attention. 

 

“Oh, yeah?” 

 

_ I-HIDE-HOW?  _ Stiles signs before pointing to his uncovered face,  _ BANNED-I-AM _

 

Scott face takes on a look of someone who is remembering something very important that  _ still  _ managed to slip their minds. His lips pursed before Stiles could practically see the lightbulb turn on in his eyes. Before Stiles could ask Scott what he just thought up said person was running back into the house tossing a quick, “I’ll be back” over his shoulder. 

 

When Scott comes running back out, a dark red- almost black- cloak in hand, he thrusts it towards Stiles with a accomplished smile on his face. Stiles gently takes it with a small smile, almost grimace, on his face and nods twice in thanks. 

 

 “There,” Scott says with triumph, “Now nobody will recognize you.” 

 

Stiles opts not to mention how his face will still be free and instead just pulls the hood over his eyes and hopes for the best. Once he finally feels as hidden as he can be he makes his way in the direction Scott has started in. The quickest path leading to the inner village follows the forest line, however unlike Stiles who has grown up surrounded by the trees, Scott is wary of the looming woods that stand tall in the setting sun. Because of this, the two boys take the longer route to the inner village, the broken trail that circles just outside the village line and bypasses the Twisty Tavern. 

 

Stiles wondered what happened in the year that he was gone that made it where Scott has no trouble being anywhere near the tavern. Where he doesn’t feel a slow crawl of slime making its way up his neck and the need to scratch off the first layer of his skin until he’s clean. He wonders what made it so easy for Scott to make that move to move on, move forward, and what’s holding himself back. He could ask, he feels the words bubbling in his throat, just like they always do every year on this day when he’s forced with his past. He doesn’t though, like he didn’t then, because he can also feel the thick fingers that wrap around his throat and squeeze when he opens his mouth. The feeling fades when he decides to keep quiet, but he closes his mouth just in case. 

 

“Hey let's stop here,” Scott calls back over his shoulder, “I need to piss.” 

 

Stiles slows to a stop, taking in his new surroundings, not realizing just how far they had walked. However, when he looks up he notices a broken wooden and metal sign.  _ Twisty Tavern five miles away _ he reads, his breath coming out short and quick as he does so. He wonders if it’s acid reflex or sick he feels in the back of his throat. He doesn’t want to know.

 

“Okay,” Scott says out of breath as he slaps a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “I’m back, let’s go.” 

 

He doesn’t cast a second glance at the looming sign as Stiles so hoped he would, the other boy just looked at it and nodded a quick sharp jerk. In that moment, to Stiles, Scott no longer looked like an eighteen year old naive boy. His face was carved by the shadows of the trees, creating sharp edges and adding a layer of seriousness that sent a chill down Stiles spine.  _ Maybe,  _ Stiles thinks guilty,  _ I was too quick to judge _ .

 

* * *

  
Stiles noticed him first, the man from the woods, through the group of people entering the tavern. The mage was leaning against the tree as he waited for Scott to retrieve something from inside Twisty- Scott insisted the stop was needed and Stiles refused to go in. So when the man walked up, a blond woman in tow, Stiles had spotted him immediately. The man, Stiles wish he go his name now, was standing just on the other side of the property line as the woman went inside. He seemed less... _ broken _ . That was the second thing Stiles noticed, although the boy could still feel the lost and sorrow that surrounded the older man, but he seemed more on edge as well. He watches a few moments more before he hears Scott call out his name, in a hurried tone, causing him to stand up straight and make his way towards his friend. Although he does pause to lightly brush his hand against the tree he was leaning on in thanks, his heightened senses leaving him the farther he walks away from the plant. 

 

Nevertheless, even his human senses could feel the weight of eyes on the back of his neck.


	9. Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter meets Chris Argent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised something longer.....but school. Essays are a killer y'all.

Peter watched as the cloaked figure walked towards one of the towns boys, both of them heading in the direction of the town square.  _ Stiles. _ The wolf thinks, the same is rare, fitting. Peter can’t help but be happy that he now has a name to the boy in the woods, even if he doesn’t know what he’ll do with that information. Something tells him that the Argent family are not the ones to directly ask. Once Stiles is out of Peter’s view the man turns back to the front of the tavern. 

 

The tavern is a vile thing in Peter’s opinion and probably anyone’s opinion that has any self-respect. The shack looking building looks rundown and smells of dark desires that even Peter feels his skin crawl from. It’s why he choose to stay outside while Kate went in to retrieve her brother- “The Lost Son”. 

 

“Look who I dragged out of the bar!” Kate’s voice rings out as she tugs a taller man behind her, “Turns out even the Devil has to work on Sunday’s.” 

 

When the  two siblings reach Peter he takes a moment to fully take in the oldest. He looks exactly like an Argent- extremely attractive in a dangerous way- but he also looks scuffed and bruised. Showcasing the signs of bar fights and a life of scraping by on a little luck and a lot of skill alone. Peter can’t help but wonder what made an Argent want to live a life in what could be considered the Narrows of Beacon Hills, and what made Gerard not fight it harder. 

 

“Chris,” the older man said while extending a hand. Peter looked at it for a moment before grasping it in his own, giving a hard shake and a smile. 

 

“Peter,” he replied. The fact that neither of them said their last name did not go unnoticed, least of all by Kate who up until then had be standing back and watching silently. 

 

“Well this is intense and all,” she starts out in a sarcastic tone, “But let’s move this back to the square.”  She ends with a clap of her hands and makes her way back in the direction her and Peter originally came from, assuming that they would soon follow. 

 

“She’s trying to cause a scene,” Chris said with frustration, but already moving in the same direction with acceptance. Peter lifted an eyebrow in question as he followed soon after, but not before looking back at the lonesome tree that now seemed to loom over the dark tavern. 

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

Chris cast a long glance at Peter before letting out a dry humorless laugh, “They didn’t tell you about me did they? Figures, they wouldn’t want someone new to town to know about their failure.” 

 

“How do you even know that I’m new?” Peter ask suspiciously, his sixth sense silent but paranoia at a forefront. 

But Chris just gives a smile, “Because you don’t look at me with the hope the disappointment and scorn the locals have nor the anger that the higher class has. But mostly because not once have you asked me about the rebellion.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I have a question! Originally I was planning on not having Peter and Stiles talk face to face until the last two chapters, but since I've been a bit horrid at updating I'll have they chat face to face sooner if that's what y'all want! So chat or no chat in the next Peter chapter? Whichever gets the most votes (in the comments on this chapter alone) by my next update wins!


	10. Stiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles meets Kira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated making this chapter longer, but I like where I ended it.

“You’re the boy that was banned,” Kira ask with a puzzled look on her face, “He doesn’t look dangerous?” 

 

Stiles simply blinked in response and shock.  _ Dangerous? _ He couldn’t help but think.  _ Is that what the town thinks? _ He can’t help think about the finger shaped bruises that are now just ghost on his arms. He wonders how he can be so dangerous but still cower in the alcohol stained shadow that builds the shape of his father. He wants to ask out loud, especially when he sees the look Scott cast in warning. How his friend shakes his head towards his girlfriend before throwing a smile his way. 

 

Yes, for a brief moment Stiles wants to open his mouth and speak. He doesn’t though, something in the back of his head, a silent alarm- warning, tells him not to. So he blinks in response and in confusion. Before giving a disinterested shrug and turning back to face the square. 

 

His Mother used to tell him about the Moon Festival, how the square would be filled with lights from candles.  _ Almost as bright as the pixies,  _ she would say wistfully before her eyes would cloud back over with sickness. Looking at the square now however, Stiles is faced with crowded streets of people walking around with sullen looks. If he listens closely he can hear the individual calls of different con-merchants selling “Moon blessed charms” and “Lucky Stones”. The Moon Festival that was told as a story to him as a child so far is just that, a fever dream turned story, told from a dying Mother to a naive child. 

 

“I know it’s sort of gross right now,” a voice says from the left of him, when he turns to look he sees it’s Kira. He turns his head a little more to see where Scott went when she answers his unasked question, “He went to get us some food.” 

 

Nodding in acknowledgement Stiles turns back to the crowd. 

 

“I’m talking about the festival by the way,” Kira continues after a few moments, “I know it looks gross right now. But that’s because this is the day festival. It’s for “trade” and preparation for the night festival.” Her voice has a mechanic tone to it, as if she’s reciting parts of her explanation from memory. 

 

“But that’s what we just say,” she counties with a bite that doesn’t quite fit her demeanor, “it’s really just a way to scam the desperate into buying trinkets that might help them with their problems. Charms, ales, all the like. It’s sad actually, and gross on our part.” 

 

A questioning hum escapes out of Stiles impulsively and from the corner of his eye he sees Kira turn to look at him in shock. 

“Scott said you could-,” she cuts herself off before clearing her throat, “By “ _ our _ ” I mean the affluent families in Beacon Hills. The Martin’s, Whittmore’s, Yukimura’s, especially the Argent’s. All of us- heck even the McCall’s still have a little pull. But I get it, power and secrets.” 

 

Before Stiles could sign- revealing even more about himself to the strange girl- to ask her more about what she was talking about, Scott showed up out of nowhere with three sandwiches. His smile stretched thin and eyes abnormally wide as he moves to sit right between Stiles and Kira. He passes the sandwiches out blindly his eyes moving from Stiles then back to Kira. 

 

“Everything okay?” He ask, his eyes still trained on Kira, his smile thinning and stretching until her’s starts fills his face. 

 

“Yeah it’s great! I was just telling Stiles about how beautiful the Moon Festival is,” her voice soft once again and filled with a wisp of teenage love as she looks up to Scott under her lashes, “and romantic too.” 

 

Stiles watches silently as Scott’s shoulders seem to relax and he leans back against the wall behind them with a soft smile once again on his face, “Yeah it is isn’t it?” 

 

“Yes, just beautiful,” Kira agrees again, but when Stiles looks back to her he finds her staring at him. Her eyes older than the childhood wisp that fills her voice and her face sunken in by a casting shadow, giving her a fox-like look. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Up:  
> * By popular vote Stiles and Peter will have their third (or second if you don't count the Tavern scene) meeting. And what better time than the Moon Festival?   
> * Backstory on the Rebellion   
> * We meet the "founding families" (aka *maybe*new POV)


	11. Peter and Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, it was more than a month! But I can explain: Crazy hours + broken laptop = month hiatus! 
> 
> Either way I'm sorry! And because it was such a long (unplanned) hiatus, I'll just post what I have now! SO consider this like a chapter 11 part 1. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Update 8/14/2019: I rounded out the chapter a little. Only a few sentences, but enough to make the transition into the next chapter better (hopefully)!!

 

The sun was setting by the time the three of them arrived at the edge of town square. Kate and Chris were walking ahead of Peter, whispering to each other, Kate's face contorted in anger and Chris' reluctant. The lost Hale silently wondered if their conversation had anything to do with the rebellion Chris had mentioned earlier. The rebellion that the two of them had been quick to delay talk of when Peter pressed for answers.

 

The sound of music and cheering grew as the trio walked deeper into the square. Slowly one by one each lantern started to ignite in light as if sensing the falling of the sun. By the end of the sequence the entire square was lit by an orange glow as the full moon hung in the sky. The three of them had stopped moving to sit at a table set-up outside of a small bakery. Peter couldn't help but watch the window to the bakery over the moon in the sky. The hollowness of his chest echoing throughout his mind as he watches the family in the store race around putting out bread displays and cupcakes. 

 

He wonders what his family is doing right now. If they are starting their moon festival run or if they are placing all the food out in the backyard for all of the guest and pack to eat together. 

 

 "The rebellion was during the Moon Festival," Chris said slowly as if in a haze, "started right when the last lantern went out." 

 

 When Peter turned to the man, he noticed Chris was looking up towards the darkened sky, as if the answers would rise with the moon. The omega wondered if he should say anything, his curiosity wavering in the look of naked pain in the Argent pariah's eyes. 

 

 "We were fighting against my father, Gerard, and his beliefs when it comes to were-creatures,” Chris gives a dry chuckle at Peter’s surprised look, “Yeah an Argent that doesn’t hate the supernatural is always shocking to people. Anyways, the cause split the family down the middle. My mother, myself, and my daughter Allison for the cause. My father, Kate, and our uncle Alex against it.” 

 

 “That must have made family meals uncomfortable,” Peter dryly said, the older wolf still trying to process what was being said to him. But Chris just nodded in agreement to his words, his mouth set in a small smile before settling back into a grim line. 

 

 “Yeah it would have, if the rebellion lasted long and if Allison and Uncle Alex survived long enough to attend.” Peter had enough decency to look ashamed for his earlier comment with the now current knowledge of the youngest Argent’s untimely death. As before however, Chris continued on, as if he needed to say this once and all at once. 

 

 “The rebellion didn’t even last a year. The town was divided as well, some remembering the days when magic was apart of Beacon Hills, and others not wanting to upset the new gods,” Chris suddenly stopped, before whispering, “I still think we would have won if Talia had helped us…” 

 

 The words, words that were too low for human ears to hear caused Peter to freeze. He found himself caught between his throat contracting at the mention of his former alpha and older sister, and his veins turning cold at the knowledge that Argent's know of his pack. Even if it seems that _this_ Argent is the best one. 

 

 Kate returned to the table, with three mugs of rum, successfully preventing Peter from asking the question that laid at the tip of his tongue. _How do you know Talia?_ Instead the man gave her a smile and watched as Chris finally let his eyes drift away from the sky. The moon seeming to finally break the horizon as Chris’ eyes laid on Peter’s. The former Rebel’s eyes holding a haunted look that screamed _drop it_ as Kate asked what the conversation was about. 

 

 “We were talking about the Tavern,” Peter replied still looking at Chris, “And how it must be supplying all this rum and ale under the table.” 

 

 “I’ll have my father look in to it,” was Kate’s only reply; if Chris flinched at the words “my”, well nobody said a word. 

* * *

 Stiles eventually realized that Scott wasn’t leaving Kira’s side again anytime soon and that he himself didn’t want to watch the two of them make heart eyes all night. So he quietly made his way to another table. Then another, and another, and another, until he found himself in the center of the square. Or at least the outer center, as the table now made a huge circle around the square and each lined up in front of a store of some sort. The one that Stiles chose was right in front of a flower shop and directly across a bakery. Not that he could really made out the name of the store in the now dark outdoors, he could only see the food display that the lanterns from the square shined on. 

 

 The music of the festival all of a sudden started to quiet down as the large crowds parted and other villagers stood from their seats. Stiles followed suit if only to blend in so his confusion wouldn’t show. Although it might not have mattered as the people in front of him towered, completely blocking his view from all of the commotion. 

 

 “You might not want to be seen by that group,” a smooth voice said behind him. 

 When Stiles turns around the see who the voice came from he was met with dark blue eyes, like steel, and a crooked grin. It was the man from the woods, now from Twisty Tavern, and Stiles doesn’t know if the last part is worrying or not. He has to remind himself that the man seemed _broken_ not _cruel_. He still took a step back just in case. 

 

 “My name is Peter,” the man said as he took another step towards Stiles, “and I remember you.”

 

 Stiles felt frozen in place and although he also felt a pleasant liquid hum beneath his skin he couldn't help but be wary. This isn't the forest that surrounds his home, and it's not the edge of town where secrets stay just that. It's the middle of town, and Stiles  _ isn't supposed to be here _ \- even if Peter doesn't seem to know that. 

 

 It takes longer than Stiles would like to admit to realize that Peter was waiting for a response. So he pulls out a paper and quill and writes down only one line. 

 

_ I need to go.  _

 

 When Peter reads the words his brows furrowed before he gives a quick nod. Stiles watches as the wolf takes a step back before looking back out at the crowd. His face making pinched in decision making before it settles.

 

 "I know a place you can go without being noticed by The Elites," Peter finally says as he tilts his head towards a softly lit- but near empty- alley, "do you trust me?" 

 

_ Does he?  _ Stiles can’t help but briefly wondered, even as he felt something inside himself hum at the thought of the man before him. Despite the warm glow, Stiles knew to at least be little wary, if only because of past traumas.

 

_ Do you trust me? _

 

__ Stiles looks back once more at the crowds of the Moon Festival and lets his eyes quickly take in what he could see of The Elites, his body gives a chill. When he turns back to Peter Hale he says nothing at first, and then takes his out-stretched hand with a nod. 

 

 “I do,” Stiles says with a rough voice, his throat groaning with the lack of use. If Peter’s eyes flash bright blue they say nothing, and if Stiles doesn’t add on  _ for now _ , they still say nothing. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So next chapter will probably just be the rest of this chapter so be prepared for either a re-upload or just a post of another short chapter (which would then be titled "Stiles and Peter")
> 
> Side note! Should I leave the underage warning on this? Like it's one scene that I warned about in the tin, and also in the notes of that chapter. Everything else will be 18+ Stiles (Because honestly I don't want to write kid Stiles being hurt anymore than y'all wanna read it). Just not sure if I should have such a big warning for something that is only one chapter and one paragraph in that chapter?
> 
>  _Update 8/14/2019: I rounded out the chapter a little. Only a few sentences, but enough to make the transition into the next chapter better (hopefully)!!_ Also I'm keeping the Underage tag on as of now, just because I don't know how many flashbacks I plan on doing if I'm honest.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment on what ya'll thought!! I know it's lacking some background info to make it a /good/ one-shot, but that just means I'll have to add more:)


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